


Blackout

by Alexander_Wesker



Series: Sanely Insane [3]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: (but don't worry they are just scratches), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Auditive Hallucinations, Gen, Hallucinations, Jeremiah Valeska needs a hug, Jerome Valeska is here as an hallucination, Panic Attacks, Paranoiac Breakdown, Pre-Laughing Toxin Jeremiah Valeska, Self-Harm, Soft Jeremiah Valeska, The Blackout from the title is more of a sensorial one than an actual blackout, The One Bad Spray didn’t happen, maladaptive coping mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28780356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexander_Wesker/pseuds/Alexander_Wesker
Summary: Everything was going well for Jeremiah, until suddenlyit wasn’t.
Relationships: (mentioned) - Relationship, Jeremiah Valeska & Bruce Wayne
Series: Sanely Insane [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2046725
Kudos: 24





	Blackout

**Author's Note:**

> Everything that you'll read in this story is based on personal experience, I had a paranoiac breakdown with a panic attack yesterday and decided to write this to vent it out a bit, since I headcanon Jeremiah as having basically the same problems as me.  
> Hope you like this anyways.
> 
> Also, even if I do, don't drink when you feel an 'attack' coming and not ignore it after it happened, give yourself a bit of self-care. Don't do like Jeremiah, or me, okay?

Everything was fine, even better than just fine.

His outing with Bruce had gone well despite everything, and he had enjoyed his first evening out with someone that he considered a friend, and _that considered_ him _a friend._

_Everything was going well. Okay maybe not… absolutely well._ But it was better than it had been in years. 

The only source of his fear gone, hopefully forever.

Though his real identity had been outed to the world and he had a bloodthirsty cult that wanted to make him go insane, or maybe, just kill him Jeremiah wasn’t sure of what was worse between the two options if he was being honest with himself.

And if he was being _completely_ honest with himself, insanity was the worst option of the two. He couldn’t even bear the thought of losing control over his own self, over the products of his mind.

He  _dreaded_ what he would do to his  _very best friend_ , if he lost even a bit of the strict control he had on himself.

Especially after those horrible,  _horrible_ thoughts… 

Jeremiah  put down, on the desk, the grid paper sketchbook and the alluminium-alloy pencil, with a heavy sigh of disappointment, mostly in himself for not being able to focus on the task at hand, but also because of the messiness of the sketch he had been working on.

_ How had he even managed to smudge the line of the metal pencil was a mystery even to him who had done it. _

He stood up and went to the cabinet in his workroom to pour himself a serving of whiskey. Surely it wasn’t too early to start drinking, even though he didn’t remember if he had lunch today, nor if he had breakfast that morning. 

The lights were muted so outside it must have been mid-day or the beginning of the afternoon, unless the sky was clouded enough to trick the light sensors that triggered the light cycle in his labyrinth.

Speaking of which he had to check one of the corridors because he was pretty sure that the cement had started to crack at the angles, meaning that some pesky little tree root had managed to grow past the inner metal plating of the wall, which would be quite the nuisance. 

Honestly what was he even thinking when he decided to build his underground home beneath a forest? It was one of his worst decisions, ever. There were so many variables and things that could go wrong, it was a miracle that only one problem had made itself known-

Jeremiah was brought back to the present by a sound, that shouldn’t be happening.  
He heard it again.

With the glass still in his hand, Jeremiah walked, hesitantly, to the locked door of his workroom.

The shrill, scratchy sound of something clawing at the door made itself known again, he almost jumped back, away from the door. 

_ This wasn’t happening.  _

_ No. _

_  
There was nothing on the other side of the door. Nothing. _

Jeremiah closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, the sweet burn of the whiskey still on his tongue.

There was nothing out there, in the corridor.

If he were to open the door,  _ which he wouldn’t because it wasn’t needed _ , nothing would be on the other side.

_Nothing_.

The clawing only increased in frequency and aggressiveness.

Jeremiah opened his eyes and took a step back from the door, repeating to himself that this wasn’t real, that there was nothing on the other side of the door.

But the more he thought that the more the clawing got louder and faster, as if there was some hungry beast on the other side of the door.

‘ _Let me in, Jeremiah!_ ’ 

A gasp left his mouth, the glass that had been in his hand shattering against the floor. _No, this wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real._

‘ _Jeremiah! I know you are there! Let me in!_ ’

With his eyes fixed on the door, Jeremiah started walking backwards.

The clawing continued, mixing in with the voice that he shouldn’t be hearing, because it was impossible.

_ He was dead! Dead and buried!  _

_He wasn’t coming back, he wasn’t, he_ -

‘ _Jeremiah! I didn’t claw out of my grave to let a fucking door stop me_ ’

_ No, no, nonononono… _

Jeremiah walked backwards till he ended up with his back against the wall, fear clouding his mind, as he pressed himself against the wall. His breaths coming out too shallow, too quickly, he knew he should calm down.

He wasn’t defenseless, anymore.

But how could he keep calm if  _ he _ was there, just a door between them.

‘ _Jeremiah!_ ’

“Stop yelling my name! You are dead! You are not here!” He yelled back, his voice almost sounding foreign to his own ears, it was too high, terrorized.

The voice and the clawing stopped.

And Jeremiah almost breathed a sigh of relief, that got stuck in his throat as a familiar, howling laugh echoed in the silence, too close… too close.

Jeremiah closed his eyes covering his ears with his hands, but it wasn’t enough, he could still hear it.  _ Jerome’s laughter. _

‘ _If I’m not here, then why don’t you open the door?_ ’ his brother asked, mockingly, a trace of that unhinged laugh still in his voice.

Jeremiah didn’t move, didn’t say a thing.

Laughter echoed once again around him. ‘ _What? Are you scared, brother? Scared that I’ll hurt ya? I won’t_ ’

Once again Jeremiah didn’t answer, pressing his hands harder against his ears, even though it did nothing to muffle the sound of Jerome’s voice. He held back a scream when Jerome hit the door, getting angrier and angrier, the longer he didn’t answer.

The clawing restarted as Jerome yelled his name, furious.

“Stop, stop, stop, please.” he started pleading, as he slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, eyes still closed.

But the clawing didn’t stop, it continued and continued and  _continued_ .

Till that horrid sound mixed with his brother’s voice giving it a metallic, almost demonic edge.

And it was too much. It was too much and he was starting to doubt that this wasn’t real, it had to.

_ It had to. _

_ Why would his mind do this to him? _

The door opened. He didn’t dare to open his eyes, something clawed at his arms, pulling and pulling. Clawing until it hurt.

Jeremiah screamed.

.

.

.

When he woke up, no, not woke up he had been awake the whole time, only that he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t make up a thing, his thoughts too muddled up with fear and panic, and the clawing and Jerome’s voice.

Before he lost again that little, feeble grip he had gained on his own mind, he noticed something, there was blood on his arms and on his hands, his senses still muted so he couldn’t really feel the sting of the scratches.

So… that had been the clawing, he must have scratched himself, yes, he had done it himself. _Nothing had grabbed him._

_Nothing had been there._

_Jerome was still dead._

_It had been all him._

_And wasn’t that frightening?_

_That his own brain could trick him enough to not let him realize that it was all his own doing?_

Jeremiah shook his head, chasing away that thought as he slowly rose back up on his feet, deciding to focus on the here and now. He had to clean the scratches and maybe bandage them if they were deep enough to need it, then he had to clean the whiskey and glass shards from the floor.

Everything was fine, and even if right now it didn’t appear so, he knew it was.

He didn’t even realize that he had left a bloody hand print on the wall, as he propped himself up.

_Everything was fine._


End file.
